


'Welcome to the Manor, Miss Drake'

by Evilpixie



Category: DCU
Genre: BDSM, Dom/sub, Exhibitionism, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Forced Feminization, M/M, Porn Star AU, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 18:20:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6020242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evilpixie/pseuds/Evilpixie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another spin off from <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/3235163/chapters/7046336">The Boy with the Dragon Tattoo</a> as requested by <a href="http://universallyquestioned.tumblr.com/">universallyquestioned</a> on tumblr.</p><p>Tim puts aside his porn persona 'Timmy Drake' for one evening to be a guest of Mr Wayne himself at the infamous Wayne Manor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	'Welcome to the Manor, Miss Drake'

**Author's Note:**

> As always, there are things that happen in this story that I haven't explicitly tagged. Please read with caution and be aware that this is not an accurate portrayal of BDSM but rather a zany little world where kink can be a little more fantastic. (Though, let's be real, kink is pretty fantastic already).

“I-I can’t do this.”

 

“Yes you can.”

 

“B-but I…”

 

“ _Yes_ ,” Alfred repeated firmly. “You _can._ You’ve done this before.”

 

“That was different!” Tim cried. “I was being paid—”

 

“You’re being paid now.”

 

“—and that was _different_. I-I wasn’t convincing then. It was for a group that liked it. I wasn’t…” he trailed off. Sucked in a shuddering breath. “F-fuck.”

 

He was in the back of one of Bruce’s cars, pulled up at the apex of Wayne Manor’s imposing driveway, and staring down at his hand sitting shaking on the doorhandle. It didn’t look like his. The wrist hidden under black lace that ran from the base of his longest finger back to his elbow, the knuckles overshadowed by a ring that he was sure cost more than his car, and fingers crowned with the unfamiliar length of fake nails. Finished in dark red nail polish.

 

“Master Tim?”

 

“Last time…” he tried to make Alfred understand. “Last time I was a guy in a to-to. That’s all I was. But now…”

 

He was in a dress. Long, backless, and black with shifting silk skirts that parted all the way up to his hip on each side. His lacy black bra was entirely visible around the low cut halter neck and had been matched with see-through knickers that made the thong he used to wear while stripping feel conservative.

 

The butler watched him in the rear view mirror. “You can do this, Master Timothy. I know you can. The question then really becomes do you _want_ to do this?”

 

“I do,” he croaked. “I do but…” He trailed off.

 

“But?” Alfred prompted when it became clear Tim had abandoned the conversational ball on his side of the court.

 

Tim looked at him hopelessly, unable to finish that sentence.

 

He wanted tonight. He wanted whatever tonight would turn into. He wanted to fulfil the strange fluttering need that filled his stomach when he pulled the feminine underwear on no matter how terrifying it was to get out of the car and walk up the front steps of Wayne Manor. But he couldn’t swallow down the fear the flowing skirts around him bought.

 

He wasn’t ashamed of being in drag. He wasn’t. What he was afraid of was passing as a woman in front of the army of straight male guests that frequented Wayne Manor.

 

Unlike the first time he’d popped on Harley’s bra he _really did_ look female. The dress had been designed to give him the impression of hips, a faux fox fur shawl hid the breadth of his shoulders, and the long fringe fixed to the front of his wig draped over the more masculine shape of his brows. That paired with Leslie’s frankly amazing makeup had been passable enough that when he walked by Jason in the change rooms earlier the man hadn’t even looked up.

 

Why would he? Jason was gay. _Very_ gay.

 

But most men that frequented Wayne Manor: BDSM Showroom weren’t. Most came to see the Gotham City Sirens in their weekly trio act, or to watch Police Woman Barbara get fucked by Big Dick Grayson, or to sit in a performance by the freshly returned duo of Mistress Kane and Miss Brown.

 

 _Most_ guests were straight as a spear and tolerated but didn’t pay much attention to Timmy Drake’s still popular but much more niche shows. He was fine with that. They didn’t bother him and he didn’t bother them. It was an arrangement that had worked out great so far. But now…

 

He was about to walk into Wayne Manor looking very much like a woman. He was about to perform in a – very public – upstairs show in which he had no idea how much clothing will come off. He was about to play with a partner who – to his knowledge – had only ever played with cis-female submissives. Considering all that there was no way there wouldn’t be at least a _few_ straight males obliviously watching on. Would they see past the heels and the hair? Would they see past the drag? And, if they did, how would they respond?

 

In his mind’s eye they were angry. Disgusted. They demanded their money back and reneged their membership to Wayne Manor: BDSM Showroom. Bruce would calm the situation – he always did – but then he would call Tim into his office, look him in the eye, and tell him this was a bad idea.

 

_We should never have done this._

 

“Master Timothy?”

 

“Yeah?” Tim rasped, mind still caught in the worsening spiral of fear.

 

The eyes in the rear view mirror were worried now. “Any contract is void if you retract your consent. Don’t forget that. If you really don’t want to…”

 

“I’m okay,” he vocalised the feeling in an effort to make it more real. “It’s okay. It’s all going to be…” _I can do this. I want do this. I **will** do this. _ He grabbed at the door handle and pushed it open before he could change his mind. He needed to get out. He needed to make the commitment to see this through. Fast. Like ripping off a Band-Aid.

 

“Tim.”

 

He stopped. Alfred rarely ever called him by his name free of any honorifics or stage aliases.

 

“Don’t worry,” the man said, turning to address him over his shoulder instead of through the rear view. “You’ll do fine. Bruce knows what he’s doing.”

 

“Oh…” was all Tim could say to that. His leg sitting outside the car felt awkward and exposed.

 

“And,” the butler straightened, taking on a more official note. “In that vein, our Master of the House has asked you to also wear this.” He reached into his breast pocket, produced a small black earpiece that looked like something out of a spy movie, and offered it to Tim.

 

“W-what is it?” Tim stammered.

 

“I haven’t been given permission to give that information.”

 

“You…? Oh…”

 

He studied the small device for a moment before nervously raking back his false hair and popping it into his ear. It fell out almost immediately and Alfred needed to reach over and help him before he figured out how it was meant to sit.

 

“Thanks,” he rasped.

 

“Don’t mention it. And just relax. I think you’ll find tonight a lot of fun.”

 

“Thanks…”

 

Alfred didn’t say anything more.

 

Tim registered the dismissal and – shaking – finished hauling himself up and out of the car. The outside air was cooler than he expected and struck all the parts of him he wasn’t used to having exposed. His thighs, his collarbone, and the small of his bare back.

 

He sucked in a deep breath, closed the car door, and refused to turn around as he heard Alfred pull away. He could do this. _He would_. Not all straight men were arseholes. Some were awesome. Some were his best friends. Some his boss who even asked him to dress as a woman so they could perform together.

 

_God damn you Bruce…_

 

He started wobbling up to the main doors of the manor, each step accompanied with an unfamiliar clomp of heels and the strange swish of skirts. Men turned as they saw him, a woman plucked unhappily at her simple cocktail dress, and whispers started as he skipped the line and walked down the lane reserved for black card members. Only the fluttering fearful arousal deep between his legs kept him walking. He wanted this. Despite the clump of terror at the back of his throat, despite his already aching feet, and despite the bouncer fulfilling all his worst fears and frowning at him like he could see there was something wrong.

 

“Miss?”

 

“I-I’m a guest of Mr Wayne tonight,” Tim rasped. Realised the tone of voice was too low for the woman he was meant to be and cleared his throat. “Forgive me,” spoken in a shrill soprano. “I have forgotten my ID but…” he reached into the cup of his cleavage and pulled out a Wayne Manor: BDSM Showroom black membership card. It glistened in the light spilling from the club. A simple slip of plastic adorned with the infamous W emblem in platinum.

 

Wayne Manor had four types of memberships. White cards which allowed access to the bar and strip club downstairs, silver which extended on this by granting permission to visit the second floor shows, and gold which gave unrestricted access to both the first and second floors as well as the penthouse where the porn stars performed. A black card was yet another a step above. With it he could visit every plane of the manor as well as have the opportunity to sit in on dungeon shows which happened in the cave under the building.

 

Despite it the bouncer didn’t look impressed.

 

“I can’t let you in without ID.”

 

“Just… scan this,” Tim promised and prayed for all the world he wouldn’t have to walk around to the employee’s entrance to get his driver’s licence out of his locker. Bruce had said he just needed the card. Bruce said he wanted him to enter as a guest.

 

That was the fantasy. Tim – or Tammy – was a lost little sex kitten and Mr ‘Master of the House’ Wayne was going to find her, sweep her off her feet, and…

 

The bouncer took the card, scanned it, and stared at the results no doubt showing on the screen. It wasn’t a typical member’s black card he held that night. Instead of being infused and encoded with the member’s details it lit up as being owned by Wayne himself and would have the brand ‘performer’ across the profile.

 

The man looked up, studied Tim’s face, and blanched as he recognised him. “It’s y—I’m sorry…” he pushed the card back towards him. “I, eh, yes. Of course. You can go in. Please.”

 

He struggled to thrust the card back between his false breasts and hurried in before anyone else could notice the bouncer’s stare.

 

The bottom floor looked as it always did. The lights were a low erotic red, the patrons drinking and laughing in a mix of basic black and fetish gear, and strippers collecting any and all spare cash. One stripper came up to him and brushed a strand of hair from Tim’s wig behind his ear.

 

“Care for a private dance, miss?”

 

Tim all but fell over in panic. The last thing he had expected was to be approached by one of the workers let alone a stripper. Let alone one of his ex-work mates. But why not? He was meant to be a guest after all. He’d just walked in the door as a guest. He thanked God the man was obviously new and didn’t recognise him straight off the bat.

 

“Don’t be scared,” Mr-upside-down-triangle-torso said. “I’ll take care of you.”

 

Tim managed a strangled sounding laugh. “I don’t think my—um—boyfriend would like that.”

 

The stripper didn’t quit. Took a step forward. Right into Tim’s personal space. “I’ll have you back before he even notices,” the man said. Voice a low seductive purr.

 

Tim tried to keep his face down. Hidden. “Um… t-thanks but…”

 

“Or he could join us. Would he like that? To see his girl wet and _writhing_ for another man? I bet he would.”

 

Tim tried to remember if he was ever so persistent when he was a stripper and backed up a step. “Thanks anyway I…”

 

“You pay me what you think I’m worth.”

 

“I’m not paying you,” Tim said before he realised how insulting that could be. “Oh! N-not that I think… you’re very g-good looking and…”

 

_“That wasn’t very polite, Miss Drake.”_

 

Tim spun around with a strangled gasp, lost balance on the teetering tips of his heels, and stumbled into a passing patron.

 

“S-sorry,” he stammered. “I…”

 

The man was frowning.

 

Bruce’s voice came again. “ _You are my woman tonight, Drake. I expect my women to enjoy the luxuries of my domain.”_

 

He stomach seized at the tone in the other man’s voice and he quickly forced a high chiming laugh from his throat. “Oh, forgive me!” He said to the guest, voice was little more than a squeak. “These heels are new.”

 

“That’s…” the man began.

 

Tim escaped his uncertain embrace before he could finish his reply, cast a desperate gaze around the throng of people massed around him, and – recognising no one – fled across the club. It was irrational. Bruce was speaking to him through the earpiece in his ear, he could be anywhere in the house, but for some reason he thought the man was lurking somewhere in the throng of guests crowded around the front door. If he was that meant – as per their contract – Bruce could choose now to capture and claim him. Truss him up and take him upstairs. He wasn’t sure he was ready for that. Not here. Not now. Not in the unbiased lighting on the bottom floor in full view of so many people. If Bruce took him here everyone would notice he was a man. That was one piece of humiliation he wasn’t quite ready to stomach. _This was a bad idea. A very bad idea. Why did I sign that blasted contract?_

 

He knew the answer to that question.

 

The contract could have involved being thrown off Gotham Bridge with a bungy rope attached to his balls and he still would have signed it as long as the other name at the bottom was Bruce’s. His boss. The man who he couldn’t have but had secretly wanted for months. The man he would try almost anything for.

 

_God **damn** you, Bruce!_

 

Wayne Manor was packed for the weekend and he was forced to wobble and dodge around moving packs of people as they poured through the open doors. He didn’t go unnoticed.

 

An older man’s gaze snagged greedily on Tim’s false breasts while another openly admired his legs tottering beneath shifting curtains of black silk skirts. A third was bold enough to step forward and offer to buy a drink. Tim pretended he hadn’t heard him, gathered up his skirts, and hurried on. It seemed to take an age to reach the bar. When he did he mounted the barstool wedged into the corner, ordered a drink of water from the tender, and tried to casually dust coils of the wig’s hair from his face as he watched the strip show across the room.

 

A woman. Black in a feathered red bra. Her hips hypnotic and undulating in trancelike patterns under the ruby light. _Stay calm_ , Tim tried to tell himself as he saw her bend over to accept a tip from a red faced man. _Bruce is just messing with you. Just keep your head down. Stay in character. Breathe._

 

Bruce’s low chuckle, sounding directly in his ear, made that somewhat tricky.

 

 _“I take it the strippers aren’t too your fancy, Miss Drake?_ ”

 

He fought back the look of fear and arousal as that voice slipped like silk over him.

 

_“Perhaps you would like to make your way upstairs. There are some shows you might find interesting on the second floor. Or you can stay there and drink your water if you like. Though I would be careful if I were you. Cross your legs any tighter and your tattoo will be showing.”_

 

Tim frantically uncrossed his legs and flattened down his skirt, eyes were darting back and forth. Looking for the man, or the camera, or the _anything_ that was telling Bruce all this information. He couldn’t find it. That failure left him feeling as powerless as he felt when he was strapped onto a St Andrew’s cross… and inexplicably more terrified. It was Bruce was a shadow, a power that infiltrated every part of the house, a ghost constantly breathing right at the back of his nec—

 

“Your water, miss.”

 

He jumped off the stool with a shriek.

 

The bartender blinked in surprise and carefully put the glass of water down on the table. “Sorry. I, um, didn’t mean to frighten you.”

 

“No,” Tim tried to regain his composure. “I just, eh, you see…”

 

 _“My,”_ Bruce’s voice set his insides spasaming. _“You **are** jumpy tonight, Miss Drake.”_

 

“It’s my first time,” Tim said to the bartender, desperately trying to ignore the voice rumbling in his ear. “As a guest, I mean.”

 

“Ah. Well,” the man smiled a reassuring smile, “I suppose all this can seem pretty scary first time around. You don’t have to worry though. We’re a showroom not a playhouse. Only the performers actually play.” A playful grin. “No one’s going to take you upstairs and tie you up. Not unless you’re secretly on the payroll.”

 

Tim felt the colour drain from his cheeks. _Oh shit. Oh fuck. Oh God._

The bartender’s smile slipped. “Hey, are you sure you’re…?”

Tim forced out a fake laugh when it became clear that’s the response the man had been expecting and seized his glass of water to hide his face behind it. He knew the bartender hadn’t recognised him. The words were too earnest for that. But even so they had his heart hammering hard and painful in his chest.

 

Bruce chuckled. _“I think I’ll promote him to the top floor bar.”_

 

“Are you sure you’re alright, miss?”

 

Tim nodded. Didn’t lower the glass.

 

“Okay,” the man eased back uncertainly and went to pour some wine for a couple who had arrived giggling and red faced from a private strip show.

 

Tim finished his water, nervously checked his makeup in the reflection on the side of the glass, and quickly uncrossed his legs when he realised he was once more showing off the tail end of his tattoo. It was something he did without thinking and something that sent a surge of terror through him every time he realised it. His squirming didn’t go unnoticed and serval times men came up with dark eyed grins to ask if they could buy him a drink or a show. What Bruce thought of all this he didn’t say but Tim had the distinct impression he was enjoying watching Tim struggle to stay in character as men gazed unwittingly at his false breasts.

 

Under it all, Tim was starting to enjoy it too. To enjoy the thrill of being so subtly yet supremely tortured by the other man. To enjoy the electricity that surged through him every time a stranger put his hand on Tim’s thigh – dangerously close to his manhood – and smiled. To _get away with it_ despite the part of him that kept insisting that sooner or later someone would notice.

 

“T-thanks but I’m waiting for a friend.”

 

“I’m sorry but my boyfriend is coming for me.”

 

“I’m just here with my partner. He’ll be right back.”

 

Every time he spoke the fear of discovery tightened like a bullwhip being wrapped around his throat.

 

He was terrified, he was excited, and he was trying to will up the courage to get out of the crowded ground level and make his way up to the second floor. It would be safer there. Less people who might recognise him and more places to duck away where he’ll be relatively out of the sight. It was also where Bruce had told him to go and where he thought he was most likely to be picked up by the other man to be taken upstairs. _Oh fuck yes… I want this. I need…_

 

“Hello beautiful,” another stripper – female this time – arrived with a seductive smile. “ _Hm_. What are you doing here hanging out all by yourself? Don’t you want to come and keep me company for a bit? For you, I’ll dance for just one hundred.”

 

Bruce. _“Say yes, Drake.”_

 

“No,” he shook his head. “I… eh…” Oh God, did he just disobey Bruce? “Sorry I… I’m going upstairs.”

 

He lurched off the stool, almost dropped his faux fur fox shawl, and – blushing – fled across the room and up the stairs to the second floor. He’d only ever used the guest stairs once during a scene and it still felt like he was trespassing moving from the bottom floor into the more elite levels of the manor. He tried push those thoughts out of his mind and quickly ducked into the long narrow corridor that was the hallmark of the manor’s second floor. Each door was either locked or had a sign outside it displaying the type of show that could be found within as well as the names of some of the performers.

 

A Lesbian Sensation Scene.

 

A Straight Bondage Scene.

 

A Straight Impact Scene.

 

A Lesbian Discipline Scene.

 

Right when Tim thought they were about to run out of letters in BDSM he came across a sign that made him stop.

 

A Gay Punishment Scene.

 

There weren’t very many gay performers in the manor. Jason, Dick and he were the only regular ones. Was this what Bruce was talking about when he said there might be something of interest to him up here?

 

He sucked nervously at his teeth, looked around to make sure no one was watching, and slipped through the door. The theatre was shockingly dark beyond but he managed to grope his way to a seat and somehow sit so his knickers didn’t pinch or ride up any further than they had. Only then did he take note of the two performers on stage.

 

Tim didn’t recognise the sub. Lithe and limber with no great muscle mass but enough definition to make him undeniably attractive in a very masculine way. His face, in steep contrast, was beautiful. An elegant cross of Middle Eastern and Caucasian that seemed to take the best of both worlds. Alluring even when twisted with a grimace of pain.

 

The dom was The Red Hood.

 

Tim swallowed a pang of emotion that felt worryingly like jealousy. Unwarranted and childish.

 

He knew Jason played with others. As far as he could tell he was dating Dick on the side and last month had done a crazy kinky three way porno with two stars from an adult studio called ‘The Outlaws’. It involved Jason double domming a guy with the help of a female domme Tim was pretty sure he’d seen Dick fuck in an old video on HornyTeenTitans.com.

 

The world of kink and porn was a small one it seemed.

 

Which is why Jason playing with this strange sub was so odd. Bruce must really like this boy if he got to play with Jason on the second floor before his presence made itself known on Dick’s incoming-hot-guy radar.

 

Tim’s thoughts snapped back to the scene as Hood smacked his belt with casual brutality against the sub’s naked arse. The flesh there was already pink and purple and the sound that came out of the man’s throat was dangerously close to a sob. Another strike and a sting of nervous need stirred inside Tim’s stomach.

 

He didn’t know if the sight of The Red Hood was what was doing it. He didn’t know if the sounds he so often accompanied with pain and pleasure were what was awakening the organ between his legs. He didn’t even know if it was a voyager streak he never knew he had… but he was getting turned on. Fast.

 

Which was a disaster in his dress and ball strangling lace knickers.

 

Bruce. _“Hm. **Someone’s** enjoying this.”_

 

No. No way. The room was dark. How could Bruce know he was getting hard? He _had_ to have superpowers. Or be magically bonded to the house in some way. There was no other explanation.

 

 _“Touch yourself,”_ Bruce ordered.

 

He shook. Didn’t move.

 

_“You’ve disobeyed me once tonight, Drake. I do hope you’re not making a habit out of this. I wouldn’t want to have to do what Hood is doing to a good young lady such as yourself.”_

 

Hood’s belt came down again. _Crack!_

 

The sub screamed.

 

Tim glanced at the patron sitting not two metres to his left. The man was riveted on the performance, looked to be hard himself, but was also the person who was most likely to notice what was going on if Tim started masturbating. He wasn’t the only one though. There were two women behind him, another man across the aisle on the other side, and a white haired businessman breathing heavily in the seat just in front.

 

Another crack. Another scream.

 

_“ **Now** , Drake.”_

 

He all but whimpered as he reached under his skirt and ran his fake nails along the slowly growing bulge there. It was agony. It was bliss. It was barely anything but sitting in this room where anyone could glance over and see what he was doing – and the kind of equipment he was packing – made everything inexplicably more sensitive. _Fuck_ , he was enjoying this. The fear of being caught. The ridiculous mask that was Miss Drake.

 

Three minutes in and he was already panting and had leaked through the front of the lace. _Oh fuck._

 

 _“Are you wet?”_ Bruce asked and Tim wanted to smack him.

 

He needed to get some relief. He flicked down the hem of his knickers and…

 

“No,” Bruce’s voice was a growl. All playfulness – if there was ever any – gone. _“Women don’t touch themselves that way, Miss Drake.”_

 

Tim shook. Bruce had a denial kink. He knew that. He’d read the contract. _Shit shit shit._ He stuffed himself back into the knickers and tried to palm himself in a way a woman would. Trapped in the painfully tight lace it was more a torture than anything else. He was starting to shake, desperate hopeless tears were prickling at the corner of his eyes when…

 

 _“Mercy!”_ The sub yelled as The Red Hood’s belt came down again with another resounding _crack_.

 

“Mercy?” Hood growled and stalked around to grab the sub’s chin. Force him to look him in the eye. “Who do you think I am, you little fuckin slut? I ain’t sweet on you like your ‘daddy’. I ain’t gonna be nice just cause you beg for mercy. You wanna beg? You wanna _really_ beg? I can make you _beg_.”

 

Tim saw straight through it. It wasn’t dirty talk. Not really. It was a mid scene discussion.

 

 _Do you want to slow down?_ Jason was asking. _I can keep going. I can go harder. But if you want to slow down…_

 

Something in the sub’s look gave him his answer.

 

“Huh. You’re not even worth my time.”

 

_Okay. We’ll take it back a notch. Finish up._

 

The scene was winding down. The sub hadn’t used a safe word. The safe word was a double finger click. But he had called ‘Mercy’ which was a pretty common safe word in the scene. Jason had checked and the sub wasn’t one hundred percent happy. The scene wouldn’t end immediately like a double finger click would have done but they would wrap it up pretty soon.

 

Tim felt oddly relieved. He didn’t want to have to watch Jason play with this stranger. A beautiful black eyed sub who seemed to take up a role uncomfortably similar to Timmy Drake’s. The only thing Tim had that this sub didn’t was a tattoo… and the sub had what looked like some pretty impressive scars crisscrossing his shoulders that more than made up for it.

 

Stupid. He was playing with the Master of the House. He wasn’t going to get fired. He…

 

_“Shame. I was enjoying that.”_

 

_Oh I bet you were you bastard._

 

Tim tried to will away his erection and – failing that – hide it under his skirt as the show came to a finish with some slaps that he knew sounded worse than they wore and some dirty talk that made him wish he was the one on that stage.

 

Say one thing for Hood… he had a _filthy_ tongue… helped along in no small part by his wrong-side-of-the-tracks Gotham accent.

 

When the performers moved off stage and the lights brightened Tim dropped his fox shawl to his lap and waited until everyone else had left before shuffling back out into the hallway. What greeted him there made him wish he’d stayed in his seat.

 

Bruce smirked. “Why _there_ you are, Miss Drake. I trust you…” his silver eyes danced down to the shawl hugged around Tim’s hips. His smile sharpened. “…enjoyed yourself.”

 

Tim stared in horror, unable to speak as he noticed a man with a camera on his shoulder hovering nearby. The lens directed directly towards him. _Wayne Manor Online’s livefeed._ This was being broadcast online. How many people were watching? Hundred? Thousands? Hundreds of thousands?

 

Tim forced himself to ignore the hovering camera and focus instead on the looming billionaire. Bruce was surrounded by his usual possie of admirers, employees, and elite members. That was bad enough. The prospect of facing the online audience dressed like this was even worse… even if it left him raw with nerves and thrumming with a deep, strange, needy humiliation.

 

“It was very good,” he managed.

 

Bruce leant forward. Eyes wolfish. “What was that, Miss Drake? I can’t hear you.”

 

He raised his voice but clung to the breathy quality of it. To anything that could make it sound something closer to feminine. “I’m sorry, sir. I… enjoyed it very much.”

 

“Mm,” Bruce regarded him carefully. “I’m ready to go upstairs, Miss Drake.”

 

Tim felt crippled by a burn of humiliation, fear of discovery, and a lingering sense of arousal. “Oh…”

 

The man waited. Expecting Tim to say something more.

 

He swallowed. “I… If you want… I…”

 

“Oh I want…” Bruce seized Tim’s jaw and pulled him in. Crushing their bodies together. Tim’s erection undeniable against’ Bruce’s thigh and Bruce’s groin pressing in turn against Tim’s belly. And… wow… that was impressive even to him and he slept with porn stars.

 

“… and I get what I want.”

 

Tim yelped in surprise as the man picked him up and slung him over his shoulder. Oh no. Bad bad _bad!_ He could feel his skirt part all the way up to his hip. And he was over Bruce’s right shoulder which meant his _left_ hip was…

 

“Nice tattoo,” one of Bruce’s admirers said. “Is she new?”

 

Tim was red. His arse was up in the air, body draped over Bruce’s back. Shawl dropped on the floor. Any slight movement could knock his skirt to the side and then his dick and balls would be on display. In front of Bruce’s admires who he was pretty sure thought Bruce was straight. _Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck…_

 

Bruce slapped him once on the arse.

 

He yelped.

 

“I wouldn’t say that.”

 

A few of the patrons who had watched Jason’s show were staring at them. At Bruce, at the cameras, and at his tattoo. They knew who he was. They were the kind of crowd that lined up to see The Red Hood play. They were the people that would recognise Timmy Drake. And they did. He could see it in their eyes. They were in on the secret… and they loved it. Standing beside the oblivious straight men and grinning like children who had accidentally been given an extra piece of candy in the store while their sibling missed out.

 

_I know something you don’t know._

 

He saw the man that had been beside him puffing up his chest and telling an oblivious guest how bratty ‘Tammy’ had been in the past. He saw the two women who had been behind him smiling behind their hands. And there… _oh hell_ … he saw Ra’s al Ghul watching with a lifted eyebrow. Where had _he_ come from?

 

“Please excuse me,” Bruce said to the crowd of people around him and walked – Tim still over his shoulder – down the hall.

 

“Wait…” one of the straight patrons behind them looked confused. “Drake? Isn’t there another Drake? A gay Drake?”

 

Ra’s. “There is only one Drake…”

 

And then they were around the corner and stepping into an elevator Tim didn’t even know existed. Bruce didn’t put him down once. Easily holding him in place over his shoulder as the metal box propelled them up passed the third floor where all the porn stars lived and into the penthouse.

 

Part of Tim became aware that he’d never been on so many floors in the same night before. The thought small and strange inside him… and shattered the moment the lift doors opened and they stepped out onto the top floor of Wayne Manor; BDSM Showroom.

 

Catwoman paused mid-whip and arched an eyebrow as they entered. Not fooled by his costume for a moment.

 

Ivy – who was busy roping up Harley in dark green Japanese ties – looked at him like she never had before. Like he was someone she was attracted to.

 

And Dick… the man had been eating Police Woman Barbara out across the bar but paused when Bruce walked in and looked up with a strange light in his eye. Tim knew that look. It was the _new-hot-girl-on-my-radar_ look. He would have laughed out loud at the shock it dissolved into when the man spotted his tattoo if he hadn’t been so beautifully _disastrously_ terrified.

 

Bruce threw him down onto an empty sofa, grabbed a handful of hair from the back of his wig, and pulled him forward to whisper in his ear. “You look _divine_ , Drake. Those eyes were made for eyeliner. Those legs were made for heels. Those lips…” his breath ghosted against Tim’s mouth.

 

Tim leant forward. Suddenly desperate to kiss this man. To make whatever they were doing real.

 

Bruce drew back. Quickly. Like recoiling from something disgusting.

 

Tim snapped out of the strange tingly subspace he had been working his way into and looked up at the other man with frank hurt. His greatest fear while in this costume was being found disgusting. He’d been dreading that response from every person he’d passed. But he hadn’t expected it from Bruce. From the man who had told him to get into the dress.

 

“I’m your boss,” Bruce said. His voice was oddly soft. Apologetic. Quiet enough not to be heard by the nearby crowd. “I can’t pay you to have sex with me, Tim. That’s prostitution. That’s illegal. That would be the exact thing the police are looking for to shut this place down.”

 

He nodded, hating that the entire top floor was looking at them and that he was pretty sure there were tears smudging his makeup. “I understand.” _But,_ he wanted to say. _Sex was in the contract… and you made me touch myself… and it was just a kiss…_

 

“Don’t doubt,” the man rumbled. “That I want you.” When Bruce spoke again it was louder. “Wrists up behind your head, Miss Drake.”

 

He obeyed and watched as the man stripped his tie from his shirt and without any more preamble pushed it against Tim’s eyes. He shuddered as he felt the makeshift blindfold tighten around him and then knot his hands into place at the back of his skull.

 

He knew the whole room was watching him. Selina. Ivy. _Dick_. It wasn’t often the Master of the House played. Even porn stars put aside what they were doing to watch when it happened. And they weren’t the only ones. He knew the guests would be watching. Some knowing who he was… some not.

 

Not being able to see their reactions made the whole experience suddenly even more terrifying. Even more vivid. Shocking him back towards the mind bending mix of fear, need, and pleasure that had him floating as Bruce carried him into the room.

 

“What are you going to do to me?” Tim whispered.

 

Bruce’s hand touched his cheek. His thumb snaking out to smudge the lipstick on his bottom lip. “I’m going to fuck you.”

 

He frowned. Confused. “But didn’t you just…?”

 

The fingers on his lips slid into his mouth and Bruce’s voice sounded again. This time behind him. “I’m just not going to use my body to do it.”

 

The location of his voice in conjunction with the fingers didn’t match. He couldn’t be behind him and putting his hand in Tim’s mouth at the angle he was… _Oh God_ … the meaning of the other man’s words finally hit home. They weren’t Bruce’s fingers in his mouth. That wasn’t Bruce’s body pressing against his.

 

“Every hand, every mouth, every _body_ in this house is mine,” Bruce growled as two new hands wrapped around Tim’s back and grabbed hold of his fake breasts just as the other hand of mouth-man reached down to palm his groin through his dress. “And if I wanted to I could have _everybody_ fuck you tonight.”

 

Tim felt the two men press in either side of him. Were they Dick? Jason? Someone who he’d never even seen before?

 

There was two of them. He’d only ever had sex with Jason and Dick and if there had been a third person he would have known for sure he was having sex with at least _someone_ new. As it was he had no idea. This could be a threesome he had before. This could be half of something he knew. This could be something completely new. He didn’t know and that uncertainty had the organ between his legs harder than it had been in weeks.

 

He moaned.

 

The hands on him tightened.

 

They _were_ Bruce, he decided. Both of them Bruce. _All_ of them Bruce. Bruce kissing him at the same time he bit the back of his neck at the same time he continued to speak in low filthy tones right in his ear.

 

“…honest. I didn’t think you’d be such a _good_ girl. You turned down one of my best dancers. Barely made a sound as you touched yourself in Hood’s little… _demonstration_.”

 

Tim shuddered.

 

 _Fuck it._ Jason’s tongue wasn’t half as filthy as Bruce’s. Not a quarter. Screw the south Gotham accent. Screw the ‘slut’s and ‘whore’s and ‘desperate little bitch’s. Bruce’s upper class purr somehow made ‘demonstration’ eight million times as erotic as anything Jason spat at strange-totally-not-his-replacement-sub on the second floor.

 

“Tell me,” Bruce continued. “Are you going to be a good girl for me now?”

 

One of the men reached down and pulled Tim’s knickers down around his knees. Immediately the other was pushing two very slick fingers into him. They left his dress on. Didn’t once dismiss or destroy the feminine illusion. Didn’t do anything that would reveal his true gender to the unaware clients that may still be watching.

 

If they weren’t going to Tim wasn’t either.

 

When he cried out it was higher than normal. When he trembled with need he made sure to press his thighs together. When the man in front of him pinched his false nipples he hissed and arched his back _. I am a woman. I am **his** woman._

 

Bruce chuckled. “Good girl.”

 

He smiled and threw himself into the performance. Drunk on endorphins he twisted, shrieked, and spread his legs for the unseen audience. Drinking in the sound of their reactions, Bruce’s growl of pleasure, and the taught nervous feeling inside him as he danced along the sharpening edge of discovery. Surely someone would notice… _surely_ …

 

The hand on his groin grasped him under his skirt as the one behind him pushed more lube and more fingers in. Soon he was taking what felt dangerously like four fingers in his arse and trying not to come as the hand on his dick rubbed furiously at an imaginary clit between his balls.

 

_Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuckity fuck…_

 

The man behind him pulled his fingers out and entered him in one agonizing thrust. He fell forward with a yelp into the body in front of him and shuddered as the cock in him immediately set a punishing pace. The unknown man grabbed his hips, hammered into him, and pounded his prostate until semen seeped unbidden out of Tim’s dick.

 

The man on his front shuddered, abandoned Tim’s testicles, and used Tim’s own moisture to lube up his fingers before pressing them in beside the cock jackhammering him.

 

“Ahh _hmmmm_!!!” He blindly buried his face into a shoulder. It didn’t matter. The man before him wasted no time in adding a second finger. Then a third.

 

Tim realised what was going on a second before it happened and smothered the very deep groan that came out of his throat as the second man joined the first in his arse.

 

It was awkward, uncoordinated, and not helped by Tim’s blindness or his bound hands. But from under the skirts it might just look like he was taking one dick in his arse and one in his imagined vagina… or perhaps it just looked like he was taking two in the arse. It didn’t matter because he’d never had more than one man into him before and the feeling was… overwhelming. Painful, _perfect_ , and utterly uncontrollable. Made better by the knickers around his knees forcing his legs to stay close together.

 

“Ahhh…mmm… fuh-fuck I…”

 

Bruce. “ _Language_ , Miss Drake.”

 

“S- _ahhh_!-orry.”

 

“What was that?”

 

“ _Hmmm!_ S- _hic_ -orry!”

 

“Once more.”

 

“Sorry!” Tim finally managed to shriek.

 

“Sorry?” Bruce sounded amused. “What do we say after ‘sorry’, Drake?”

 

He groaned as his head rolled back. “Sorry s-s-sir.”

 

He felt like a rag doll bouncing between two strangers’ laps. Their cocks hammered unevenly inside him.

 

He felt like a sex goddess beguiling and bewitching untold masses as he threw back his head and screamed soundlessly at the mind bending sensation.

 

But more than anything else he felt completely and totally in Bruce’s power.

 

That thought was what tipped him over the edge.

 

“I… I’m…” with a surge of panic he realised he wouldn’t be able to hide his very masculine groan as he came. “B-Bruce I’m gonna… p-please…”

 

Bruce’s hand – and this time it really _was_ Bruce’s hand – clamped down hard over his nose and mouth. Holding him, _affixating_ him, and smothering his deep bellied groan as the two men kept bucking into him.

 

The lack of oxygen, the press of bodies, and the thrill of what was happening made it one of the stranger orgasms of his life. Tight, fast, and almost dry but still strong enough to leave him feeling _crippled_ in its wake.

 

He slumped back between the two men, exhausted and shaking as he was dragged back onto the twin cocks by the suddenly unvanquishable weight of his limbs. They both groaned. One sunk his teeth into the left side of Tim’s neck. The other the right. He keened in pain and leant mindlessly towards Bruce’s voice drifting around him like a scent as he chatted to the patrons. His dom. His boss. So casually powerful it left him numb with need just thinking about it.

 

When the bodies using him came, they came together. All Tim felt was what seemed like an endless spray of warmth deep inside him.

 

Then it was over.

 

One man pulled out and left. Then the other.

 

He felt suddenly gutted and hollow. The thrill of what he had been doing fading fast as his mind caught up to himself. Blind, bound, and lying smeared in semen against the armrest of a sofa. What had felt like the most amazing thing in the world a moment before suddenly left him feeling sick. Used.

 

This isn’t what he’d expected would happen tonight. Is it what he would have wanted? Would he have signed the contract knowing he wouldn’t actually be having sex with Bruce?

 

Someone touched him. He knew this time it was Bruce. The real Bruce.

 

He didn’t resist or welcome the touch and heard Bruce curse before he was effortlessly picked up. He was carried through a crowd who chatted about what they had just witnessed with excited approval.

 

It cut off sharply with the sound of a closing door. A private room. Away from the crowd.

 

Bruce laid him out on the crisp clean carpet quickly undid the tie.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

“Yes,” Tim answered as he blinked up at Bruce’s office. “I’m fine I…” he licked his lips. “I just dropped for a second there.”

 

Bruce knelt over him. “Would you like some water?”

 

“No. No I…” he sat up and blinked around the dim room. Bruce’s desk, his draws… on the far wall there was a mirror and Tim took a moment to study himself in it. His makeup was ruined. Lipstick smeared, eyeliner remembering the path of tears down his cheeks, and concealer rubbed away in mismatched patches. Around it the wig was wild, one bra strap had fallen down, and his knickers were still around his knees. Both the front and the back of his skirt were sticky with semen.

 

“Tim?” Bruce’s gaze flicked between him and his reflection, worried. “Do you want to get that off?”

 

“No. I…” He smiled. “I look hot.”

 

The man’s shoulders slumped with undisguised relief. “Yes. Yes you do.”

 

Tim was surprised. He didn’t realise he had so much power over Bruce. That Bruce cared about his mental health so much to worry when – for just a moment – he became unresponsive in a scene. But he did. It was a strangely stilling thought.

 

“Who fucked me?” He asked.

 

Bruce studied him. “Do you really want to know?”

 

Tim thought about it. Shook his head. “No. Don’t tell me. Don’t let them tell me either if it’s Dick and Jason.” It was better not knowing. _So_ much better.

 

“Okay,” Bruce agreed and gently lifted his bra strap to put it back on his shoulder.

 

Tim’s eyes flickered closed as he felt the callused pads of the man’s fingers ghost against him. He wanted to lean into that touch, to press against that hand and have it press against him. Not sexually. Not really. He was far too exhausted to want more sex just then. But… even so…

 

“I’m off the clock now right?”

 

“Unless you want to go back out there,” Bruce muttered. “But I would rather you didn’t after a drop.”

 

“But you’re not going to pay me anymore tonight?”

 

Bruce frowned. “No. No, you’ve earnt your pay.”

 

“Good.” He reached out, took hold of the man’s face, and pulled him down to crush their lips together. It wasn’t a porn star kiss. It wasn’t even a lover’s kiss. If anything it was more a ‘thank you’ than anything else. But, in that moment, it was exactly what Tim needed. Just to feel that connection. To feel Bruce. Because as much as he had loved the two bodies that had fucked him. As much as he never wanted to know who they were – swept up in the fantasy of their facelessness – he had done this for Bruce… and he had missed Bruce’s touch.

 

When their lips parted Bruce gently pulled off the wig, unstrapped Tim’s heels, and dragged him into a surprisingly warm hug. “You did amazing,” the man said. “You really did.”

 

He smiled. Drinking in the warmth from the man who had done so much to him with barely a touch. “You too.” He usually wasn’t one for aftercare but he had to admit it was nice. Maybe he should start putting it in his contracts like Dick did. _You fuck me, you have to hug me._ “That’s what I needed,” Tim said as they slipped apart. “Just a kiss.”

 

Bruce swiped the lipstick off his bottom lip with this thumb. The gesture speaking of his years of experience in this industry. “I understand.”

 

“I think I’ll be fine now,” Tim muttered. Yawned. “You should get back to the party.”

 

“I will,” Bruce said, reached out, and detangled the ear piece from the discarded wig. Tim hadn’t even noticed it pull out. “But you take care of yourself. You can stay in the spare room on the third floor tonight and order some food. Just remember to tell the delivery drivers to meet you around back. If you feel you’re dropping again…” he put the earpiece in his own ear. “Call me.”

 

Surprised. “Why?”

 

Bruce gave him a blank look. Spoke in Mr Wayne’s voice. “You’re my woman, Miss Drake. I look after my own.”

 

He smiled as a shudder crept down his spine, playfully slapped Bruce’s arm, and took a small speaker the man handed to him. It looked like a walkie-talkie. “You were speaking to me with this? Lame.”

 

“It’s not lame,” Bruce growled and moved back towards the door.

 

Tim waited until he was back out in the party before pressing the green button and whispering into the device. “It’s _so_ lame, sir.”

 

He jumped as Bruce’s voice came back out at him. And _of course_ Bruce wouldn’t put himself in the same predicament he had put Tim. _Of course_ he would have some way to send messages as well as receive them.

 

_“If you keep talking like that, Miss Drake, I’m going to have to drag you back out here and put you over my knee.”_

 

He giggled, working his bare toes into the carpet. He didn’t want to play again tonight but, he decided, he wouldn’t mind something like that in the future. Perhaps Tammy Drake wasn’t going to be a one-time deal. Perhaps in his downtime from being Jason’s boy he could be Bruce’s girl.

 

_Bring it on._

**Author's Note:**

> That's all for now folks! I hoped you enjoyed my little dip back into 'The Boy with the Dragon Tattoo' universe. I know I did. It was awesome hearing from you guys and writing about some pairing and kinks which might not receive as much love as others. Let me know what you think and - once again - be gentle. I've never written Bruce/Tim before.
> 
> As I have mentioned before, all the doms in this AU have different kinks and play a bit differently. I hope we all approve of forced feminzation, denial, and tie tying being Bruce's cup of tea.
> 
> Check out my [tumblr](http://evilpixiea.tumblr.com/) for more Boy with A Dragon Tattoo stuff... among other things.


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